


even when feeling it not

by afrocurl



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Judaism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-23
Updated: 2011-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-21 16:25:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/pseuds/afrocurl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>line breaks are from a poem written by an unknown concentration camp occupant.</p>
    </blockquote>





	even when feeling it not

**Author's Note:**

> line breaks are from a poem written by an unknown concentration camp occupant.

_I believe in the sun, even when it is not shining._

In the last hour, Erik’s mind had been awash with vague memories, shrouded in darkness as his family attempted to start Shabbos on a Friday night: the smell of latkes from an early Hanukkah celebration, the crying and din from Purim.

There were too many flashes flooding his vision, overtaking his senses: the feeling of his mother weak against his touch on a cool day, the bitter taste at his first Seder. He’d lost touch with the crisp breeze coming from the direction of the mansion or the gravel under his feet.

(They hadn’t been able to see the sun in days, huddled together in the crawl space of their home. Only the family home didn’t belong to them anymore than G-d belonged to them.

Everything had been taken from them. First went their ability to make a living, then their access to the rest of the town, and finally, their dignity-- was stripped away, leaving scores of families with nothing but the simple clothes forced upon them. Clothes and a yellow star.)

Turning around in an effort to shake the mental image, he hurried back into the mansion as President Kennedy addressed the country. The gravel underfoot felt no better than the images he’d pushed away.

A fleeting desire to run barefoot quickly subsided when he looked up at the Xavier home.

-

He could feel the gentle press from the man across the chess board.

“What do you want to know?” Erik asked as he looked over the board, trying to concentrate on his next move.  
“I want to know why you never talk about _it_?”

“And what is this _it_ you’re referring to?”

“Don’t be so coy, Erik. Your faith.”

“It is no longer mine. It was lost to me.”

“The memories are still there, my friend.”

“Only with the help of a man who can’t stay out of my business,” Erik spat. He stood and left the study, leaving the game unfinished.

-

 _I believe in love, even when I am alone._

The comfort of the helmet did nothing to quell the lingering images that Charles had brought to the surface only days before.

He still felt the flicker of warmth from a menorah, still felt the same longing for solace as he had the night he heard someone singing the Kol Nidre in the camps.

All of that had been something he’d pushed away- _down_ even - when he left the camps. It wasn’t his, and never would be.

Even in Israel, it was clear nothing was his that had been. The people there, yearning for hope had found refuge but not peace.

Threats of violence would still exist, he was sure. No one wanted a country of Jews, except the Jews. Long suffering and still wandering the vast desert of the planet, so they shall forever remain.

-

 _I believe in G-d, even when He is silent._

The breeze sent the faintest smell of kugel to the chess tables.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had smelled that (not since some cafe in Haifa) but the smell of cinnamon and raisins hit him.

Someone bit into an apple not far from him.

The hint of orange and yellow against the green in the leaves told him everything he needed to know.

“L’Shana Tova,” he whispered, looking up for his partner.


End file.
